


The Cat who Got the Cream

by xysabridde



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Drug Use, Established Relationship, Gene!whump, M/M, xysabridde
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xysabridde/pseuds/xysabridde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene gets himself in a sticky situation; Sam does his best to help.</p><p>EDIT: So I did edit this fic shortly after it was posted to include this note, but it doesn't seem to have saved- this was in part inspired by the 'Accidental Tourist' series by the wonderful Basaltgrrl, which I can only thank her for enormously, and apologies for forgetting to put this in when the fic was actually posted!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cat who Got the Cream

  Ten o’clock in the evening and Sam’s retired home for the night, suffering from a sad lack of Gene in the Railway Arms, and now suffering from a sad lack of whisky at home, having been too eager to get some fresh air to remember to buy another bottle from Nelson. He’s trying, unsuccessfully, to distract himself from his DCI-lessness with a couple of manuals on arrest procedure and the attainment of warrants, but given he was practically word perfect on the 2006 versions of these, they hold few surprises other than the ways WPC Milburne thinks ‘adolescent’ and ‘detainment’ are spelled. Oh, for Microsoft Word and the long-lamented spellchecker. He’d even be happy to put up with the annoying paperclip if it meant a break from bloody typewriters.

  Sighing, he slots the manuals away and stands, stretching himself out until his fingertips brush the ceiling. Gene had promised to be home for half past nine, told Sam he’d got some errand to run in the suburbs somewhere, but with no sign of him Sam’s forced to make his own entertainment, and given that he and Gene got rid of the telly after it kept coming on on its own in the middle of the night (or so Sam said), there’s not a lot on offer. He could listen to the radio, but what decent radio programme will be on at ten o’clock at night, when the respectful citizens of Britain will be tucked up with a mug of Horlicks and a novel? Bar the police, of course, but they’ve got an excuse. Criminals don’t sleep, so nor do coppers. Glen Fletcher told him that, a long time ago, on their first stake-out together, when Sam was moaning about having to get home to his girlfriend and missing _Dr. Who_ , squeezed him about the shoulders and told him to buck his ideas up about being a police officer, that it wasn’t always glamorous and he had to take the rough with the smooth. He’d had to read the review in the next day’s _TV Times_ instead, but they had caught the bloke they were after, and therefore in his book (or the crumpled magazine hidden behind his arrest manual in the canteen, anyway), it was worth it.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered with _Dr. Who_. He’s got a whole new take on it now, all his own.

  He reaches up and draws a pattern on the ceiling, straining on tiptoes. Then words. _Sam. Gene. GMP. Sam and Gene sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G._ That makes him giggle. His first girlfriend used to sing that whenever he pulled her round a corner at school for a quick snog, and it always used to annoy him, but the mental image of himself and Gene perched on a branch, faces melded together, is somehow much more appealing.

  _Gene Hunt FTW. Sam Tyler FTW. Sammy-Boy and the Gene Genie FTW. LOL, why am I writing text-speak on my ceiling. Text-speak hasn’t even been invented yet. Writing text-speak on the ceiling FTW…_

  Three hard knocks on the door make him jump, his W turning into a squiggle as he all but topples onto the floor, grabbing at the armchair for balance.

  “Sam? Sam, let me in. Sam?”

  “About time!” Sam hurries over to the door and yanks it open, only for Gene to all but fall into his arms, shaking uncontrollably and drenched in a cold sweat.

  “Gene! Gene, what’s ‘appened? Tell me what ‘appened, Gene, tell me what ‘appened, are you OK, tell me what ‘appened…”

  “I… someone brought me a drink… some woman…” Gene struggles to catch his breath, wheezing as Sam pulls him over to the armchair and eases him into it, snatching the blanket off the bed to drape over his legs. “Drunk it… made me sleepy… she took me out back an’ I think I fell over, it hurt my face, an’ it hurt, Sam, it hurt an’ you weren’t there… an’ then she tol’ me to go away an’ I came ‘ere ‘cos it hurt.”

  “Yer face ‘urts?” Sam runs his fingers tenderly over the graze on Gene’s cheekbone, snatching his fingers away as Gene howls in pain. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll get some antiseptic.”

  “No! Don’t go!” Gene’s hand latches onto his forearm with surprising strength for a man who wasn’t able to stand up a minute ago, like a vice as Sam gives up on first aid and crouches back down beside Gene, stroking his hair back.

  “It’s OK. I was only goin’ to the bathroom. It’ll stop yer face hurtin’, there’s grit in the graze an’ if I get that out it’ll feel better. Alright? D’you know where you are, Gene?”

  “Your shitty bloody flat… the wallpaper’s alive… tauntin’ me-”

  “Someone’s bloody dosed you, ‘aven’t they?” Sam wraps his arms around Gene, sheltering him from the wallpaper. If ever _60 Minute Makeover_ truly was needed… “It’s alright, I know what to do. I’ll keep you safe. Don’t worry.”

  “Take the wallpaper away, Sam,” Gene mumbles into his shoulder. “I don’t like the wallpaper. I told you it was ‘orrible. Take it away.”

  “I’m tempted, believe me. Why don’t we run you a bath, you can relax, an’ the wallpaper won’t be there. That sound good to you?”

  Gene seems to think on it for a moment, eyebrows creasing in concentration, before jerking his head down, gently head-butting Sam’s chest. Sam presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, turns the light off to obscure the wallpaper, and slides into the bathroom to start drawing the bath, leaving Gene shivering in the old armchair, alone and confused in the dark of the flat.

-0-0-

  “SAM!”

  The panicked cry brings Sam running back out ten minutes later, straight over to the armchair, only to fall flat on his face with a yelp as his foot discovers that Gene is no longer in the armchair, but on the floor in front of it.

  “Ow! What? Are you alright, Gene?”

  “The… the bed…” Gene’s curled up on himself, scrabbling at the armchair to get himself back up, and Sam grabs him before he can regain his feet, pulling him into a hug to hide the flat from him once again. He’s cared for mates having bad trips before, in his younger and less wise days, he knows to just do what they say and not contradict them. Only this isn’t just a bad trip, this is a bad trip that Gene is fighting every step of the bloody way, and goodness knows what cocktail of drugs someone’s put in his drink but it’s virile, whatever it is. It’s his job to protect Gene now, a bit of repayment for all the times Gene’s put his neck on the line for him.

  “What? What about the bed, Gene?”

  “It wants you to die,” Gene mumbles into the fabric of Sam’s shirt, voice muffled. “It said you do disgustin’ things on it an’ you should die.”

  “Yeah, but you do disgustin’ things on that bed as well.” Sam gently pulls them both upright, balancing Gene as the DCI tries to find his feet again. “Bath’s almost ready, you can ‘ave a relax in there, we don’t do disgustin’ things very often in there so nothing’ll want to kill either of us.” Granted, shower sex happens on a regular basis, but he’s hoping Gene’s too high to remember that.

  “Yeah… so it wants to kill me too, because I do disgustin’ things on it as well…” Gene surges forwards, knocking Sam off balance with the sudden movement, and before he can regain it Gene’s punching the mattress of the bed, springs squeaking violently as the blows rain down on it, and then an almighty crash as one final slam sends the whole thing smashing down to the floor, splinters of wood and metal bar everywhere as Gene continues punching the thin air where the bed was with his bloodied knuckles.

  “Gene! Gene, that’s enough. That’s enough. Look, it’s gone now, it won’t hurt either of us, we’re safe now. That’s enough.” Sam grabs Gene’s arms from behind and hauls him away, struggling, into the bathroom. “It’s gone now. There’s the bath, I’ll- no, no, Gene, wait until I’ve undressed you first!”

  Gene, one loafer already submerged in the warm water, gives Sam a blank look, as though he’s forgotten what the other man’s even doing here. Which, Sam reflects with a sigh as he lifts Gene’s leg out of the bath himself and pulls his sopping wet shoe and sock off, might well actually be true.

  “There, better. Now yer shirt- I’ll take mine off as well, alright? That’s the ticket. Pop it over ‘ere. Now yer trousers- other shoe first- oh. Right, sit down, I’ll give you an ‘and.”

  “Can undress myself,” Gene mumbles, hands tugging ineffectually at the trouser leg trapped around his shoe. Sam gently removes his hands, pushing him down to sit on the toilet and easing the offending shoe out himself, depositing it beside its damp partner and turning his attention back to getting Gene’s trousers off before his DCI does himself a mischief. Christ, he’s sure he was never this bad when he was having a bad trip; what the hell have they dosed Gene with?

  “Right, balance on me- that’s it… just lower yerself down. Steady does it. Now pop yer other leg over- stand normally, that’s it… and down. Perfect.”

  “Why’s there water?”

  “Because yer sittin’ in a bath. The bath I just drew for you. It’d be a pretty shit bath if there wasn’t water.” Sam kneels down beside the tub, his own shirt off in case Gene gets splashy, and starts running a sponge over Gene’s shoulders and back, lifting his arms to wash each in turn. “Can you tell me anyone ‘oo was there when you were drugged, Gene?”

  “I was drugged?”

  Christ. Sam exhales slowly, fighting his increasing panic over just how disorientated Gene is, and starts again. “You were somewhere earlier, a pub or a bar, somewhere where you were buyin’ drinks. You said a woman brought you a drink an’ it was drugged. Do you remember ‘er name? What she looked like?”

  “Woman?” Gene looks at him blankly, raising a hand towards him and dropping it back into the water with a splash halfway there. “With fur?”

  “Was she wearin’ fur? A fur coat, a fur hat? Maybe a fur scarf? Think, Gene, think.”

  “Fur… an’ whiskers.” Gene lifts his hand again and moves it slowly through the air, as though stroking something. “Fur an’ whiskers. Brought me a drink.”

  “I don’t think cats tend to buy people drinks, Gene. Come on, who was the woman? Was she the one wearin’ fur, or was someone else? Think! Was it someone we know? Someone I know? A name, any details?”

   “She brought me a drink an’ I fell over.” Gene closes his eyes, resting his head back against the wall. “Made my face hurt. There was fur an’ whiskers an’ I fell over.”

  “OK.” Maybe he’ll be able to get more details from Gene tomorrow, when he’s sobered up somewhat. “You stay ‘ere an’ I’ll see if I can get the bed ready for us.”

  “Not sleepin’ on the bed! The bed wants to kill us!” Gene jerks upright, sloshing half the bath’s water over onto the floor and Sam’s trousers. “I killed the bed, Sam, don’t bring it back! I killed it for us!”

  And Gene looks so earnest in that second that Sam has to lean over and kiss him, even though Gene’s just got his bloody trousers all wet, because he knows that if there really were something in the flat that was a danger to him, Gene would stop it in a heartbeat.

  “I know, love. It was very, er, thoughtful of you. But we still need somewhere to sleep, it’s ten o’clock, I’m tired out an’ you can’t stay in this bath all night…”

  He trails off at the soft snore coming from in front of him, and pulls his head back to realise that Gene has fallen asleep mid-kiss, lips pouted delicately, long eyelashes brushing his cheeks as Sam rolls his eyes and carefully stands up to go and get rid of the fragments of bed, stooping back to sweep Gene’s hair off his forehead. They can put the mattress on the floor for tonight. He’ll just have to go bed-shopping tomorrow, but at least they might be able to afford a double bed together, and then everything that they do on that bed would be a whole lot more comfortable, and not carry the risk of imminent death by spring.

  Heart somewhat lightened, Sam heads back into the bedroom, stripping his trousers off as he goes.

-0-0-

  The ceiling’s swirling. It’s not supposed to be, Gene’s pretty sure of that, but it is and he doesn’t think it should be swirling quite so quickly, either. It’s making him feel seasick.

  He’s surrounded by warm water, it’s all over his arms and chest, and his face hurts, a lot. Sam said he’d stop it hurting, he thought Sam would stop it hurting, but Sam hasn’t. He came here because his face was hurting and he thought Sam would stop it, but at least he could rescue Sam from the bed and the wallpaper. Sam might have been hurt otherwise. He puffs his chest out in pride, watching through half-closed eyes as the water sloshes back and forth with his breathing. No dirty things happen in the bathroom. Nothing in the bathroom will want to kill him or Sam.

  The door is pulled open, and Sam himself appears, naked, concerned. He looks damp as well. Maybe they’d been having a bath together when the furry whiskers came and brought him the drink. He hopes the furry whiskers didn’t see him or Sam naked. That would have been embarrassing.

  “Gene?” Sam’s voice sounds so far away. “You alright? I’ve made the mattress up for us. We can sleep there.”

  He leans in closer, pressing a kiss to Gene’s crown. His lips are warm. The ceiling swirls a bit more, then decides it doesn’t like swirling clockwise anymore and starts swirling the other way a bit. It’s not helping his seasickness.

  “I’ll give you an ‘and up. Give me yer ‘and, Gene.”

  Sam’s reaching down for his hand, pulling him up by it. He thinks it’s his hand. He needs to check. Yes, it’s his hand, which is attached to his arm, which is attached to his torso, which is attached to his head… or is his head attached to his torso? Which is the main bit?

  “Gene?”

  He can’t be sure. He would ask Sam, but Sam might not know either. Sam knows a lot of things, but he might not know which is the main bit. Gene opens his mouth, but suddenly he’s looking at Sam’s chest, and at his nipples, two brown nipples either side of his chest, and they’re swirling like the ceiling, only in the other direction, and it’s making him dizzy.

  “Sa-” And then he’s just staring, as one of the nipples wavers and shimmers and becomes Sam’s face, grinning up at him, eyes sparkling as Gene scrambles backwards in the bath, grabbing at whatever his hands can find as he tries to get away from the Sam-face nipple.

  The Sam-face nipple smiles, licks its lips, and meows.

  “GET IT AWAY FROM ME!” Gene shrieks, scrabbling at the sides of the bath, and somehow he’s toppling out of it, slamming into a heap at Sam’s feet, and the Sam-face nipple is gone as Sam reaches down for him, but now he’s looking at the ceiling again and it’s swirling again and the bath water is sloshing everywhere, he’s so wet, and now the ceiling is meowing-

  Gene grabs hold of the toilet seat, hauls himself up, and is violently sick into it before passing out unceremoniously on the bathroom floor.

-0-0-

  “How d’you feel?”

  “Like shit,” Gene’s rather scratchy voice mumbles from somewhere beneath the blankets, his body curled up, head resting against Sam’s chest. “You need new wallpaper.”

  “We can get that at the same time as the new bed. I’ll even let you come with me to pick them out. Just no brown or orange.” Sam reaches a hand down to stroke the nape of Gene’s neck, fingers sliding idly over the baby soft hairs. “You think you’ll be OK comin’ into CID today? Don’t want me to phone Phyllis an’ tell ‘er yer off sick?”

  “No. Crime doesn’t stop because one bloke decided to try an’ get the better of the Gene Genie.” Gene opens one eye to peer up at Sam, looking a little bit like a turtle in hibernation huddled up in the bedclothes. “Don’t like to think what CID would be like if you were left in charge, Gladys. Ridiculously neat. Never ‘ealthy.”

  “If you say so. Come on then, better get ready, we need to go by the tip an’ get rid of the bed on our way. Remind me never to let you get dosed up again.”

  “Oh, an’ it was a barrel of laughs from my perspective, Mabel. I thought your bloody nipples were comin’ to life. Never been so disturbed in my life.” Gene rubs a thumb over the offending nipple, giving it a little nip for good measure. “Bastard. No wonder I was sick.” He nips it again, this time latching on and sucking for a second before sitting back and rubbing his eyes, yawning widely. “You makin’ breakfast, Sammy-boy?”

  “We’ll get something on the way. I’ve got a bathroom to clean.” Sam gently pushes his DCI out of the way to crawl out from the blankets and stand up, stretching. “You just get dressed an’ try to look something approachin’ yer normal self. I’ve got you a doctor’s appointment at eleven for a blood test, see exactly what cocktail of drugs you managed to swallow last night.”

  “Oh, ta very much,” Gene grumbles, glaring from beneath heavily-lidded eyes. “My day is finally complete.”

  “Yer clothes are by the dresser.” And Sam vanishes into the bathroom, shaking his head. Gene takes one look at how far away the dresser is- at least six foot- and crawls back under the blankets again, squeezing his eyes shut. CID can wait.

-0-0-

  If anyone in CID notices anything wrong, apart from the fact that both Sam and Gene are twenty minutes late, they don’t say anything. Ray goes straight into the Guv’s office with a report on an armed mugging, running straight back out two minutes later with the all-clear to go and find the bastard; a couple of DCs need things signing, either by Sam or the Guv; Annie volunteers herself to go and interview the rather distressed teenage victim of a flasher waiting in Lost and Found, busying Sam with the task of making some tea for her and the girl whilst she goes to try and coax some details out of her beyond “he had a tiny nob”. It’ll be useful when identifying him, for sure, but there are lots of unfortunately-hung men in Manchester and it would be handy if they had just a little bit more to go on.

  It’s half past ten and Sam’s readying himself to go and get Gene for his doctor’s appointment when Phyllis enters, holding the arm of a lady who must be sixty if she’s a day, both of them chatting away happily as the lady makes a beeline for Gene’s office.

  “… well, you could only expect it, really, with the kind of father ‘e ‘ad- oh, ‘ello, love, I was just lookin’ for yer DCI? Gene?”

  “Er, well, Gene’s a bit busy with some cases at the moment, so can I ‘elp you?” Well, Gene will probably be sleeping the effects of last night off instead, but it’s probably better for the public’s confidence in the police force if they don’t see that side of CID. The lady smiles.

  “No, I was just checkin’ up in ‘im, love. I’m Eileen Hunt, Gene’s mam.” She extends a hand, and Sam finds his own being pumped vigorously in a hold so firm it makes his fingers tingle. “Make sure ‘e was alright after last night.”

  “I’m sure Gene’s- last night?”

  “Yes, love. Gene came to mine for a drink. I do like to see my son sometimes, you know. Only… well, you see, I’d just brought my cat back from the vet- ‘e’s called Leo, loves our Gene- an’ ‘e’d given me a new drug to put Leo on for ‘is indigestion, said it should be dissolved in milk. I’d just made Gene some hot milk to drink before ‘e drove ‘ome, ‘e always loved it as a lad, a bit of hot milk before I tucked ‘im up in bed. Leo ‘ad just come in from the cold, so I thought I’d warm Leo’s up as well, an’ I’m not sure, but I think I might ‘ave got the mugs mixed up…”

  Sam can only stare, mouth opening and shutting wordlessly, as the door to Gene’s office slams open and his Guv emerges in the corner of Sam’s eye, doing a double take at the sight of his mother.

  “Mam?”

  “Genie, love. Come an’ say hello to yer mam.” Eileen extends an arm and beckons him over, and Gene slinks towards her, planting a chaste and self-conscious peck on her cheek. “I was just makin’ sure you were alright after last night, sweetie. You took quite a tumble on the front path, you know, I thought I might ‘ave to call the doctor for you.”

  “Guv,” Sam says in a slightly strangled voice. “I think I might ‘ave figured out who drugged you last night…”


End file.
